


zealot

by spock



Category: Midnighter and Apollo (Comics)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Post-Mission, Rough Sex, Superpower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 04:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11662029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spock/pseuds/spock
Summary: Midnighter's the only one breathing hard (is alwaysonlythe one breathing hard) and he loves it.





	zealot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arysteia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arysteia/gifts).



**OPAL CITY.  
THEIR PLACE.**

By the time they make it home that night the apartment is dark enough that calling it a cave would've seemed too generous, the curtains drawn shut from the last time they'd been there damn near a week prior. It had been morning then, and Midnighter had talked Apollo into closing them tight so that they could crash for a few hours before the world needed them again. Before that, it had been three days since they'd been home, and practically a fortnight before that.

Despite all of it (how long it's been since he slept, how long it's been since he did so his own bed) Midnighter's keyed-up, jittery and on edge, can't think or focus beyond the aching, insatiable need he has for Apollo. The battle they've just finished had been an ongoing tease, Apollo in a _mood_ and Midnighter always, always receptive to it. Teasing kisses shared in between crushing asshole's skulls, looks sent whenever Midnighter delivered a particularly devastating blow, looks returned by him that had Apollo's face going delightfully soft whenever their gazes caught.

He's undoing the fly of Apollo's slacks as Apollo unlocks the door. They'd actually had a few spare moments to pack civvies before they left the last time, for all the good its done them. Apollo looks wrinkled to high heaven, the rough treatment of their shared duffle ensuring that even Apollo's shoes looked as if they had taken a beating. 

"Since when are jeans too good for you?" Midnighter asks, speaking directly into the nape of Apollo's neck from where he's pressed flush against Apollo's back. It has nothing to do with Midnighter's opinion on slacks (he loves them, for the record; they make Apollo's ass look fantastic) and everything to do with how giving Apollo a hard time before they get down to business will guarantee that _Midnighter_ gets a hard time. 

"Since when did I ask for your opinion?"

**FRONT ROOM.  
NOW.**

Once they're through the door he seizes Apollo by the shirt and pushes him up against the wall just beside it. Apollo kicks Midnighter's legs out from under him so that they spill down onto the floor. Undeterred, Midnighter rolls on top of Apollo and pins him down. Wall or floor, it doesn't matter much to him.

There's a self-satisfied smirk on Apollo's face, expectant and unsurprised at the turn of events. Midnighter smirks right back and shifts his grip to Apollo's shoulders, raises Apollo's upper body about a foot from the floor before shoving him back onto the hardwood finish, knocking him around. Apollo takes it as his due before surging upwards against Midnighter with the full force of his power behind him, glowing in the darkness. He knocks Midnighter sideways easily, and then they're rolling across the floor, blindly struggling for the upper hand.

It's claustrophobic, their limbs catching on furniture, the kitchen island, a wall or two. All Midnighter can think about is Apollo's body against his, the way their fingers dig into one another's flesh, how his fingertips catch in Apollo's shirt before ripping the fabric off of him, the way Apollo's reciprocates the action on him, fingers catching on the seams of Midnighter's shirt and shredding it from his body without a modicum of effort. Midnighter's mind goes a little hazy as he thinks about the will Apollo possesses to stop at Midnighter's clothes, to not tear Midnighter apart just as easily.

**LIVING ROOM.**

Apollo's calm, steady breaths are a marked contrast to his own harsh gasps. It's all he can focus on, the need he has to pin Apollo once and for all, force him still, demand that he get his breathing up, even if it is just a ruse. Apollo's never been shy at humoring his demands, especially if he gets an orgasm for his trouble. Midnighter abuses this, and rarely feels guilty for it.

Tonight isn't one of those nights. Apollo uses his strength to quickly immobilize Midnighter, straddling him and pinning Midnighter's wrists to the floor, an echo of their previous position. Apollo sits on top of him, the slight glow of his his skin returning, allowing Midnighter to see the way that his eyes shine, the slight crook to his smile in that moment. It makes him inhale a shuddering breath, has him realizing that this is what he wanted all along — not to take apart Apollo, but for he himself to be taken apart.

"Don't you worry," Apollo says, his voice rumbling out of their dimly lit bubble, spreading into the darkness that surrounds them. Midnighter wonders if this is how it feels to hear the voice of God, if all the various prophets and seers throughout history experienced this.

He worships at the temple of his god every chance he gets, pays tribute to him whenever he can. For a while there he lapsed in his belief, but he's learned from that mistake and won't be making it again.

When it comes to Apollo, Midnighter's a zealot.

Still, a sacrifice freely given isn't much of one at all. He strains against Apollo's grip, bucks his hips to try to unseat Apollo, a kite raging against a hurricane. "You don't have to prove anything to me," Apollo continues. "It's obvious how badly you want me to fuck you."

**THAT MOMENT.**

When they'd first gotten together, Midnight had wondered just how it was that Apollo seemed to see through him as well as he does. Even now, he can't help but wonder if omnipotence is within Apollo's grasp, a power he keeps secreted away, never to admit to Midnighter's mortal sensibilities. 

It bothers him far less now than it did then. Even without it, Apollo knows him better than he knows himself, most days. Telepathy is the last thing Apollo would need to see right through him when it comes to _this_ , of all things. Of course he wants Apollo, especially with Apollo having learned him so well that there's no longer any semblance of a wall between them, all the self-control and self-preservation they once used misguidedly now long gone.

Apollo reaches down for Midnighter's crotch and palms him roughly, forcing Midnighter to jerk under his hand. Even through his jeans, Apollo's hand feels like pure heat where it's gripping him. His head is spinning; though he'd known that he was hard enough to pound nails, he hadn't realized how close he was to coming until right this second.

"This is my favorite thing about you," Apollo tells him. From anyone else it would be cruel, but not from Apollo. Coming from him its damn near a confession, spilling from his lips like a prayer all of its own. If Apollo is his god, then he is Apollo's.

Still, Midnighter can't resit talking back. "Now we both know that isn't true," he says. Teasing, goading, insisting.

It doesn't take more than that for Apollo to land his next blow. "You're right," he replies, and it's anything but an admittance, the last thing from a deferment. Without flexing a single muscle in his arms he shreds Midnighter's jeans right off, letting the respective handfuls slip from his fingers and onto the floor beside Midnighter's hips. Apollo's hands slide beneath Midnighter's thighs and he tucks his fingers under Midnighter's ass, fingers squeezing hard enough to bruise. "This," he says, "is the best thing about you."

Midnighter grins up at him, sharp, and raises his eyebrows high into his hairline, goading further. 

"Sometimes I feel like I need it more than the sun itself," Apollo says. "What do you think they would say," he asks, question blissfully vague, and Midnighter's neural-implants start running through every single possibility (his exes, Grayson, the hero community, the villain community, the entire world, the galaxy, people in the future, people in the past, any number of alternate versions of themselves from multiverses that are sure to exist) in the space it takes for Apollo to continue on between one word and the next, "if the next time that I feel my strength waining, I whipped out my cock and fucked you until I was restored?"

**THAT SECOND.**

He surges up and Apollo allows himself to be pushed onto his back, their positions reversed yet again, Midnighter's bare ass sitting on Apollo's still clothed lap, his dick rutting into the hard line of Apollo's own covered erection. "Wish you fucking would. We both know that I'm not the one too afraid to do it."

Something flashes behind Apollo's eyes, his entire body stilling before he's got a hand around Midnighter's throat as the both of them hover into the air. The heel of his hand rests hard against the bone of Midnigther's sternum, the sharp base of his wrist pressing cruelly into the innermost edge of Midnighter's clavicle, the tips of his index finger and thumb grinding viciously into either side of the hinges at Midnighter's jaw. He knows that Apollo can feel the rapid beat of his pulse. Though his grip is firm, Midnighter doesn't feel a lick of trepidation.

Even though Midnigther's weight now rests entirely on Apollo, he feels the farthest thing from in control. They're closer to the high ceilings of their apartment than the floor now; the sky has always been Apollo's domain, and he's in charge of whatever happens to them up here.

Apollo's free hand had been dangling down into the darkness beneath them, his fingers idly playing with the empty air as if it were water and they at the edge of a pool. He finally puts it to use, snaking it between their stomachs and ripping off his own slacks so that their cocks press flush together.

With the hand still grasping Midnighter's jaw, Apollo yanks Midnighter's face down closer to his own. His eyes dipping to stare at Midnighter's mouth. Midnighter snakes his own hands between them to grab at Apollo's wrist, tight as he can, anchoring himself. He feels Apollo's grip resettle itself around his throat.

It's Midnighter who has to relax into the vice of Apollo's hand so that their mouths come together. It's primal, violent, Midnigther pushing his tongue into Apollo's mouth to taste the warm wet of it, kissing away any words he might have yet still to say, swallowing the rhythmic, even cadence of Apollo's breathing.

Apollo yanks his hands out from between their bodies and brings it up to their mouths, opening his jaw wide and then sliding three fingers between their lips. Their kisses have grown slick and it's easy for him to drag the pads of his fingers along the inside of Midnighter's lips, along the skin of his teeth, to collect the saliva that's pooled there, until his fingers are slick in no time at all.

The hand is removed then, relocated between Midnighter's thighs, a smooth slide along his perineum until all three of them are inside of Midnighter in the space of time it took for him to gasp in one breath and the next.

It may have been damn near a month since they last had the chance to do this, but Midnighter's body has not and will not forget Apollo — that's something he learned the hard way. Besides, pains never been an unwelcome stranger in his life. 

**A SHORT TIME LATER.**

Apollo spreads and curls his fingers in fluid pulses, the movements echoed by the hand that still has its tight grip wrapped around Midnighter's throat. Their eyes are open, they're still kissing. Midnighter has no idea if the dual motions are conscious tease or an unintended effect of Apollo's attentions being elsewhere, focused on one task more than the other.

In his mind, Midnigther runs through every single possible answer Apollo might give him, should Midnigther ask, and it gets him uncomfortably close to the edge. "Now," Midnigther says into the wet heat of Apollo's mouth. "Right fucking now."

Apollo smiles as his fingers drag out of Midnighter, curled so that he presses hard and firm on the place where Midnighter wants to feel him the most. Midnighter focuses on the sensation of Apollo readying himself, imagining what it must look like as he feels the second knuckle of Apollo's hand catch against his hole on accident, the slick, blunt feeling of the head of Apollo's dick tapping against his hole a few times before there's the perfect slide of Apollo joining them together as he enters Midnighter, no fanfare, giving them both what they so desperately want.

His hands tighten on Apollo's wrist to center himself as Apollo thrusts up into Midnighter's body, the force of it threatening to buck him off entirely if they aren't careful.

Midnigther isn't exactly worried. Apollo wouldn't ever let him fall. Besides, tight as his grip may be, Midnigther knows that it isn't through his own willpower that he's staying seated atop Apollo through this. Apollo's been keeping him balanced from the moment that they rose off the floor, from the moment that they walked back into their home. He's always been good at that, the only one that Midnighter's ever needed to keep himself tethered to existence. The only one who's ever offered to take on the job, let alone relish it.

**UNKNOWN TIME EVEN LATER.**

He can feel it when it happens, the tension in his body seizing up all at once, Apollo absorbing that energy as if it were kinetic, Apollo's own muscles turning into near-marble beneath Midnighter's body.

Somehow, Apollo comes before him. It drives Midnigther insane, how he's still breathing as calmly as if he were in a deep sleep, how Midnighter probably wouldn't have even known that it was happening if he wasn't able to feel the evidence of it inside of him. "Fuckin'," Midnigther gasps, incensed, enraged, so utterly and hopelessly fucked with how much he loves Apollo, "react to me," he demands.

As if he'd been waiting for permission, Apollo's mouth falls open and his breathing kicks into overdrive all at once, from stasis to wet, heavy things, a man breaking through the surface of a deep and bottomless ocean that he'd been trapped under for centuries, gulping down breaths greedily as if the air might be snatched back from his lungs without notice if he isn't careful.

**NOW.**

Midnigther comes with a savage grunt, his eyes open wide to take in all that Apollo is.


End file.
